


White Wedding

by mzlynx



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Coercion, F/M, Suicide, canon character death, marriage law inspired, non-sexual coercion, spoilers for HBP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-18
Updated: 2012-10-18
Packaged: 2017-11-16 13:59:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/540207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mzlynx/pseuds/mzlynx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Definition of Hell: finding out that your parents have been murdered, the Ministry's taking complete control over your life and you're being forced to marry Draco Malfoy.<br/>Bound more tightly than she could have ever imagined, Hermione chooses to fight back in the one way no one would have expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	White Wedding

Disclaimer: I solemnly swear that I do not own Harry Potter in any way, shape or form (not even as much as a single ferret), or in formal-speak: The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story. 

“Miss Granger is **not** trying to ‘weasel her way out’ of anything, Minister.” Minerva McGonagall’s voice was low, hard and cold – like icy steel – and Draco Malfoy was more than happy to have it directed elsewhere.  
“Really? Because it certainly sounds like that to me, especially considering her actions over the past two months.”  
“Then I suggest you stop by St Mungo’s on your way back for a check-up, because apparently your hearing isn’t what it ought to be. Miss Granger is simply asking that she be allowed to finish the school year in a normal fashion.”  
“And what, exactly, do you mean by that, Professor McGonagall?” The Minister’s voice was smooth, but his irritation was obvious in both tone and mannerisms. _Really. Didn’t they teach these people_ anything?  
“Like a regular student, no different from any other. Not as a ‘wife’, forced into marrying someone she most certainly would never have chosen for herself, due to the Ministry’s unbelievable meddling. Also, **both** Miss Granger and Mr Malfoy need to focus on their studies at the moment. Sixth Years at Hogwarts have a very busy schedule – one that even the best would find it hard to combine with marital duties. Between classes, Miss Granger's prefect duties and the upcoming exams there honestly isn’t enough time left in the day to also be newly-weds.”  
The Minister looked serious now, less irritated, and McGonagall pounced again.  
“After all, it’s not like we are talking about years of waiting. End of term **is** less than three months away.”  
“You have a point, Professor. Now, Mrs Malfoy? Do you and your son have anything to add? Some reason as to why this compromise would not be acceptable?” The words were cheerful, inviting, but Draco was not so foolish as to believe they were really meant to disapprove. His mother was no more a fool and it was she who answered, with a voice like butter and honey.  
“Of course not, Minister. While I’m sure Draco would prefer not to wait – it is, after all the way of youth – three months is hardly an eternity. We do, however, expect the wedding to take place the day after term ends.” A ‘and that’s final’ hung in the air, but as it was not said it had more impact than a spoken ultimatum would.  
“Naturally. Now, I’m assuming that’s all…?”  
“No, not quite.” McGonagall again. _Damn that interfering hag!_ “We at Hogwarts have one more concern. The betrothal contract? The way it is written, once Miss Granger signs she will be obliged to obey Mr Malfoy, no matter what, just as if they were already married.”  
“Yes. And?”  
“Well, first of all there’s the issue of… pre-marital sex.” The elderly Professor was clearly uncomfortable with the subject. _Serves her right._ “Hogwarts does **not** approve of students pursuing sexual liaisons on school grounds. We may not be naïve enough to believe no such... relationships occur, but we do not want to facilitate them either. This contract would do exactly that - not to mention the fact that Miss Granger would not be allowed to say ‘no’. Now, I’m not saying that Mr Malfoy would necessarily take advantage of that,” (yet her voice clearly suggested she believed exactly that) “but, well, as Mrs Malfoy said earlier: it **is** the way of youth…”  
“Right.” The Minister, it appeared, was no more comfortable than McGonagall, talking about young people's sexual habits. At least not when it came to the possibility of one of them being forced, due to the Ministry’s actions.  
“Also there are academic issues. Miss Granger has been at the top of her year since day one, though Mr Malfoy has not been that far behind. Now, again, I’m not saying Mr Malfoy would, but even the slightest suspicion…”  
“What are you hinting at, Professor?”  
“Well, should Miss Granger’s results these last months not be up to par, so to speak, there could be allegations made that Mr Malfoy somehow had pressured her into failing to increase his own chances of coming in first.”  
Draco growled. Of course he wouldn’t! Well, he really wouldn’t have – the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. If it **had** , however… Well. Best not to go there.  
“To a smaller degree there’s also the fact that they belong to different, rivalling houses, and that rivalry has taken some… rather extreme forms before.”  
“I see. Well, Mrs Malfoy, Mr Malfoy. I have to agree with Professor McGonagall when it comes to this. Even the slightest hint that Mr Malfoy had used the terms of the betrothal contract like this… The consequences would be damaging, and could be years in the unmaking, even should we have ironclad proof that nothing untoward had taken place. Would you reconsider that particular clause? The contract would still be as binding.”  
“If she takes an Unbreakable Vow to marry me.” This time it was Draco’s voice filling the room. It was the first time he’d spoken since his initial greeting, and everyone looked surprised. Still, it was the logical thing to ask. Granger was smart; even if the Ministry couldn’t find any loop-holes she just might. And he wasn’t going to let that happen. He could live with not having her in his bed - because really, which teenage boy wouldn’t have used **that** possibility? – for a while longer, but he was **not** going to risk her getting away from him. Not now. There was too much at stake.  
“I think that can be arranged.” McGonagall didn’t sound too sure, but she had to see that it was only logical.  
“That’s my condition. No Unbreakable Vow, no change in the contract.”

“Draco, darling? Do you really think this was a good idea, changing the betrothal contract like that…?”  
“Yes, mother, I really do. McGonagall may have said that Granger’s not trying to get out of this, and the Minister may have believed her, but I don’t. She’ll do anything to get her way, I just know it. Now, you know just as well as I do that the Ministry is not exactly infallible. They may claim that there are no loopholes in this, but if it’s one thing I’ve learned these past years it’s this: if there is one, Granger will find it. She **is** intelligent, she’s very good at research and she’s persistent. If anyone can find a way out, she would be the one. And as much as it might benefit me to have her bound to obey me now? I really prefer having her irrevocably bound to marry me.”  
Narcissa Malfoy, née Black, might be known as a beautiful woman first and foremost, but woe betide the person who made the mistake of thinking that was all she was. She **was** beautiful, but she was also bright, cunning and Slytherin to the core. Normally it would have been his father handling the negotiations – had he not been “unavailable” – _Don't think about why Father's unavailable, about where he is and who made it so. Don't._ – but the truth was that Lucius Malfoy could not have done better than his wife had.  
He watched as his mother processed what he’d just said, the only sign being a slight shift in the focus of her eyes. Then she nodded once, sharply, added an “I see” and proceeded to talk about her garden.

Granger’s hair was a riot, as usual, and she was looking tired. Some of it was because of the Vow they’d just taken, but not all of it came from that spell… She’d looked tired even as she entered the room. He hadn’t said anything though, as they’d been surrounded by people. Now they were alone, and that changed things.  
“Tired, Granger?” he sneered. “Up all night thinking about all the delicious things I’ll do to you once I have you in my bed?” It was a provocation, a statement made only to remind her of the fact that even though she might have gotten an extension she’d still be his bed partner – his wife – in not too long.  
“No. Thoughts of you will never keep me up at night. Well, in the form of nightmares, perhaps, but no, that wasn’t the case either. I was studying, if you must know. I wanted to get a bit ahead, as I will be quite busy these next three months.” Something about her voice triggered an alarm bell in his head. Somehow, even though they were talking about studying, this did not sound like Granger. And it most definitely did not sound like a defeated Granger. Draco’s head shot up and he looked at her through narrowing eyes. _Did she really think…?_  
“There’s no way out of this, Granger. Not anymore. The day after term ends you **will** marry me.”  
“Oh, that. I know. It’s not called an Unbreakable Vow for nothing. Really, Malfoy. I’m not stupid.” She fell silent and Draco’s mind raced, trying to figure out what she was up to. There was **something** , he knew it as surely as he knew his own name, but what?  
“Professor Dumbledore was kind enough to make sure I got a private room. To ensure I had a quiet space for my studies – I intend to try and take my N.E.W.T.s this year.” Silence again after this surprising announcement. Surely she didn’t think he…  
“And no, I really don’t think you care, but I thought I should mention it anyway. Being **betrothed** to you and all.” Sarcasm. He was used to that. Maybe that meant she was returning to normal. Well, Granger-normal. “Especially as you **are** the reason; you’ve given me every reason to believe I won’t be allowed back for my Seventh year. In fact, if I hadn’t gotten my little ‘extension’ I probably wouldn’t even have been allowed to finish this term, would I?” Oh yes, just as perceptive as normal. Not that he’d been exactly vague about it, but... he remained quiet, though. He wasn't about to confess to anything.  
“Dumbledore also said that I might like to take the time to ‘get to know my betrothed better’, and do so in a more private setting. He’s an absolute dear, but such an incurable romantic. We both know I’m not going to spend five seconds alone with you unless I absolutely have to. That is, not while I still have my free will. I won’t for much longer, I know, but that’s then and this is now. Still, a dorm of my own is really nice.”  
Draco shook his head. He really had no idea why Granger was going on like this. She didn’t want to spend time alone with him; she'd just said so. Then why was she still here, still talking about things she had no reason to believe he’d have any interest in at all?  
“But, seeing as Professor Dumbledore really wanted me to make an effort with you… I have no intention of spending my free time with you, but I thought I’d tell you something about me, something that’ll make you understand me a little better. After all, it probably **is** what a good little wife-to-be would do.” There was a note of sarcasm in Granger’s voice, an edge of **something** that made Draco nervous. He’d thought he had her pegged pretty well, but during the past few minutes he’d seriously started to question that belief.  
“If you ask people, they'll probably tell you that Hermione Granger is all about logic. Which I usually am, not too surprisingly, huh? Still, even someone as attached to logic as me sometimes stray from the path. In my case, there’s this dream – well daydream really – that I used to have when I was younger. A silly romantic fantasy, quite stupid honestly, about meeting someone and falling in love. Perhaps not head over heels, madly in love, but still **in love**. He’d be someone I could both love **and** respect, and who’d feel the same way about me in return. We’d get married, create a home, have children, careers, and a real life. And we’d do it all together… Now I’ll never have that. Sure, I’ll be getting married, and soon too, but I won’t have a real marriage. You and your mother have clearly stated that we are to stay at Malfoy Manor, and that could never be a home to me, only a place to live. There will be no career. Not for me at least. There will be no love or respect, and as for children… Well, any child born to this union would only be Malfoy heirs and offspring, wouldn’t they? I’ll never get the important things in life now.”  
Draco didn’t know where she was going with this, if she was trying to tell him something or if she was just talking, but he had a bad feeling all the same. Something wasn’t right here; he knew it in his bones. He waited though, certain she wasn’t done ranting. He was right, sort of. She had more to say at least.  
“I also used to think that this man of my dreams would be my first love, and thereby my one and only love, and that simply made it logical to wait for him. Natural to wait for our wedding night.”  
Wait just a minute…! _Did Granger just imply she’s still a virgin?_ If she **was** , then… Oh my, this was even more delicious than he ever would have dared to imagine! Yes, he’d known there was a chance – a good one, too, as most of Hogwarts’ male population saw Granger as something less than a girl. Still, there were a few whose eyes had opened after the Yule ball Fourth year. And Pothead and Weasel were always around her, and then the biggest threat: Krum. The Quidditch star slash Triwizard Champion had been her date for the Yule ball, and like everyone else Draco knew that the Bulgarian had invited her to visit his home. Still, she seemed to be a virgin. How even **more** delicious it would be, getting her into his bed knowing this. It might even be worth the wait… _Hold on, she’s still talking. What…?_  
“…and as I can’t have it all, well, why try for any of it? If I can’t have the important parts, why go for the others? It’s simply not logical. I’ve thought about it and decided to go for the logical approach. I might not have any say in whether or not to marry you, or avoid being raped by you after the wedding, but that doesn’t mean I’m completely without options. I don’t have to wait for **that** , save myself for that kind of treatment. So I thought I’d do some experimentation – after all, if I’m ever to enjoy sex I better take my chances before term ends.”  
Draco thought he was going to suffer a heart failure. His betrothed had just told him she was a virgin only to go on telling him she intended to change that before the wedding. Unacceptable! Malfoys did **not** share.  
“I absolutely forbid it!” Draco noticed he was close to screaming – closer than what was seemly for a Malfoy – and made an effort to calm himself. “Proper Malfoy wives do not–”  
“Well, I’m not a ‘proper Malfoy wife’. In fact, I’m no kind of Malfoy wife, or Malfoy anything. Not yet,” she added with a quick look at him. “Whatever I may become once term ends, I’m still a Granger for now . And Grangers? They do as they wish.” She looked very pleased with herself.  
“You can’t… The betrothal contract–”  
“Only states that I must behave in a way that does not reflect badly on you. What I do behind closed doors doesn’t enter into the equation. Not as long as everyone keeps quiet. After all, what no one knows can't reflect on you in any way, can it? So, yes I can. The only thing that could have stopped me was that tiny little clause you just agreed to have removed from our betrothal contract. Very fortunate that. Well, for me at least.” She sounded like the cat in the creamery, and Draco was starting to see red.  
 _She had planned this. She **had** to have planned this. But why? Just to spite him? She would, wouldn’t she?_  
“We’ll just have to see about that. When the Ministry finds out…”  
“Honestly, Malfoy. Are you **really** stupid enough to tell them? As soon as you open your mouth you increase the possibilities of this entire mess ending up in Witch Weekly or the Daily Prophet. Or rather, probably both.”  
Draco knew she was right. To make a fuss **would** probably drag everything out in the open. Still there had to be something he could do! His mind raced.  
“And before you give yourself a headache trying to figure it out: there’s nothing you can do. Nothing except sit back and be quiet of course.” She looked satisfied, in a tired and detached way. And she had every right to. She’d been so very clever, so very **Slytherin** , that it almost blew his mind. While he’d been afraid of her getting out of the betrothal, against all odds, she’d found a way to make the next three months hell for him. As hellish, he supposed, as she expected her life with him to be. And as she’d have no way of getting back at him **after** the wedding…  
“Granger…” he growled, trying to come up with an effective threat.  
“Yes,” she practically purred. “Granger. And as I said, Grangers do as they bloody well please. Oh, look at the time. I really should get to bed; I need to get some sleep while I still can. See you around, Malfoy.”  
And she was gone; sashaying out of the room while Draco was still sorting through his mind for a suitable threat.

Draco spent the next two weeks monitoring every move Granger made – at least the ones he could. He had no way of finding out what happened in her private dorm, sadly, but otherwise he either watched her himself or had others do it for him. He’d seen nothing unusual thus far, and slowly started to relax. Perhaps she had no intention of finding a lover; perhaps she’d only wanted to torment him, to see how he’d react?  
Well, he reacted. He was tormented. Their conversation had unsettled him more than he liked to admit, more than he would have liked to think possible.  
Normally, Malfoys didn’t listen to rumours, but these days Draco was finding it hard not to. He found himself strangely unable to shut out the students talking in the hallways, just as he found himself unable not to react to what they were talking about; growing angrier and angrier every time he heard the malicious whisperings.  
They were saying that he, or his family, was behind the freak accident that had killed Granger’s parents right after the Christmas holidays. Draco growled. There simply was no evidence to support that theory. Naturally, that **could** have been because of another rule, namely that Malfoys don’t get caught. This time, however, there was no evidence because it simply Was Not True. Draco and his mother had spent Christmas with his estranged aunt Andromeda. Not because his mother had suddenly felt the need to make up with her Muggle-marrying sister, but simply because thanks to Lucius’ imprisonment they were under supervision. It had been either Aunt Andromeda with her Muggle husband and their Auror daughter or some “lovely” arrangement by the Ministry. It simply hadn’t been possible for either of the Malfoys to get away and arrange the Grangers’ deaths, even had they cared to. As for his father, well, while Lucius Malfoy would not have thought twice about killing Muggles – and even less about killing the parents of Potter's Mudblood friend – as he was under lock and key in Azkaban prison.  
Now, Draco didn’t believe it **had** been an accident. Oh no. Granger had made too many enemies for that to be the case. It had to be a job by the Dark side. Still, his family had not been involved, and it angered Draco to be accused when he was innocent. Of course there was no way for him to prove this. Malfoys might not **listen** to rumours, but they knew all about **using** them, and proving a negative was among the hardest things there was. The only way for Draco to be cleared would be to submit to Legilimency or Veritaserum, and he could ill afford to do either. Sure, he may be innocent when it came to the Grangers’, but not so much in other cases…  
The rumours were also claiming that his family was the reason the Ministry had revoked Granger’s majority, making her a minor and a ward of the Ministry even though she had turned 17 months earlier. Again, not true. Yes, Narcissa Malfoy had been the one to approach the Ministry about a betrothal, but as for the rest… The Ministry had been trying hard to make Pothead into one of their puppets, without success. When the opportunity arose they had been more than eager to have another one of “the Golden Trio” in their control, for however short a period. His family had **not** been involved - they had simply used the turn of events to their benefit.  
Then there were the whispers that he would stop Granger from helping “The Boy Who Refused to Keel Over And Die” any longer. Those at least were true. He couldn’t stand the idiot, never could, so why would Draco want his wife to **help** him? Then, the rumours that he would have Granger under the Imperious Curse as soon as the wedding was over – well those were just stupid. With the contract she’d signed there simply was no **need** for an Imperious as she’d be bound tightly enough anyway.  
And so on. There seemed to be a new rumour around every corner, and he was getting sick of them. And he was more than sick of the reason why he simply could not tune them out as usual. Granger. Or rather, Granger’s threats. Empty or not, they were getting the job done.

On the 17th evening after their Vow – and the following “conversation” – Draco took up his usual spot close to Granger’s dorm, Disillusioned himself and sat down to wait and watch. He didn’t expect to see anything, or anyone out of the ordinary. So far only the Weaselette had visited.  
In fact, he was so set on there being nothing to see this evening either that he almost missed the boy walking up to the portrait guarding Granger’s door. It was the sound of the boy and the portrait's knight talking that drew him out of his brooding.  
 _Wait just a minute!_  
Draco **recognized** this one. The boy on the other side of the hall, clearly there for Granger, was another Sixth Year student. One he knew quite well in fact; Theodore Nott, fellow Slytherin. A… not a friend, per se, but not an enemy either. Or so he’d been up until then. Now, however, the other boy was clearly and irrevocably sorted in Draco’s mind as an enemy.  
“Theodore.” The portrait was open now.  
“Hermione.” _Hermione? Since when is Granger “Hermione” to any Slytherin? To a **Pureblood** Slytherin? She was “Mudblood” or “Granger”, not “Hermione”. **And** she was Draco’s betrothed!_ “I’m here for our study session.”  
 _Study session?_ Draco’s mind raced, trying to connect all the dots. Had there been a certain emphasis on the words, an inflection to suggest something else? To suggest that whatever they would be **studying** would not be on the Hogwarts curriculum. He fought against the fury that arose, trying to convince himself that **of course** Nott wouldn’t be doing anything but studying with Granger. It wasn’t working. Naturally, the smile Granger shot at Nott didn’t help. Draco almost lost it completely as the portrait swung close again – this time with both Nott and Granger inside.

Hours later Draco was still trying to understand, and still failing. He simply couldn’t get his mind around it. Nott was a Slytherin, a Pureblood. His father had been a Death Eater, in fact one of the very Death Eaters captured by Granger and the others at the Ministry this past summer. Sure, Nott had never expressed any loyalty to the Dark Lord, or any wishes to take the Dark Mark, not out loud, but surely…? There **was** such a thing as following in your father’s footsteps. Such as family pride, loyalty to ideals, honouring the choices made by those older and wiser. Blood superiority.  
Oh, there were a thousand reasons why Nott shouldn’t be seen with Granger. Sure, she was a top student, and Nott cared about his grades. But even so… Draco swallowed, fighting down nausea. If the other boy could set the ideals he **should** be following aside for long enough to study with someone so below him, would he also be willing to set them aside enough to enter a… a relationship with her? Draco’s head pounded. This wasn’t going according to plan.  
Nott returned to the Slytherin dorms just minutes before curfew. The pounding in Draco’s head lessened only slightly at this.

He started watching Granger even more closely after this, soon seeing a pattern. She met with Nott at least two, sometimes as many as five, times a week. Each time their “sessions” lasted for a few hours, long enough for them to actually be studying. Or just taking a long time… No. Draco never left his post outside Granger’s dorm until Nott left, and it didn’t look to him like the other Slytherin had spent his time shagging Draco’s betrothed. It was possible, Draco kept telling himself, that the two **were** actually studying. Still. One thought kept nagging at him: Nott had always seemed to value brains over beauty. Maybe he felt the same about blood?

Then came the night – day 39 – when Nott did not leave. When Draco realised curfew was only minutes away and Nott was still inside his blood started boiling.  
He barely made it back to his own dorm.

The next day he cornered Nott, asking him about his involvement with **Draco’s betrothed**. The questioning turned into a regular interrogation – Draco on the point of breathing fire like his namesake – and still Nott said nothing, just smiled in a quiet way. Draco exploded.  
“What’s wrong with you? Do you have no loyalty? No sense of right or wrong? She’s a **Mudblood** , Nott. She’s the reason your father, and mine, is rotting in Azkaban right now!”  
That finally drew a response from the other boy.  
“There are things in this world, Malfoy, that makes a person forget about blood.” Again that smile, that bloody annoying smile. And then he just walked away, leaving Draco fuming and with a sickening feeling of missing something.

Cornering Granger worked no better. He didn’t even get a word out before she started talking.  
“Malfoy, good. I wanted to talk to you. Or no, I really didn’t, but I felt I should. Would you tell your mother it won’t be a white wedding? I’m no expert, but I’m guessing it could be useful for her to know.”  
“What?” he almost choked out, angry and confused.  
“Oh, I’m sorry. I just assumed she’d be planning the wedding. After all, it **was** her idea – or so I’ve been told – and I really couldn’t imagine her leaving it to someone like me. She is, isn’t she? Planning it I mean. I really could care less, and well, I can’t see her agreeing to anything I’d like. I’ve ordered a dress, but I was hoping that’ll be the end of my involvement.”  
“Yes, I assume she’s planning it. But what do you mean by ‘white wedding’?”  
“Oh. I… Sorry, I guess that’s one of the things that differ between Muggle and Wizarding customs then. Muggle tradition states that the bride wears white if she’s a virgin. I won’t.”  
Draco felt his blood pressure rising again. At this rate he’d have to see Pomfrey about it soon. He opened his mouth, to say exactly what he didn’t know, only to find she’d walked out on him. Again.

Days kept coming and going, and Draco’s anger kept growing. His brain kept a ticking countdown. Day 52, day 59, day 64… End of term was on day 82, with the wedding scheduled for day 83.  
He’d tried talking to Granger again, but had gotten nothing for his troubles. Well, if he didn’t count her distracted promise that she would not be carrying another man’s child on their wedding day. This did not calm him down the slightest. He didn’t think it was supposed to.  
Draco’s days were occupied with keeping an eye on Granger and Nott, his evenings guarding her door and his nights with bad dreams or - more often - tossing and turning. His school work suffered. He’d given up Quidditch because of a couple of nasty accidents due to lack of focus and also because it got in the way of watching Granger. He rarely had much of an appetite any more, and he knew his mother would not be pleased with his appearance. He couldn’t find it in himself to care.

The day before term ended – day 81 – his Godfather informed him that Granger had passed her N.E.W.T.s, with flying colours. Apparently his wife-to-be had completely outclassed all Seventh Years, earning her a place in the next edition of “Hogwarts: A History” as having received the third best NEWT-scores in the schools existence. For a student to receive such high scores despite not knowing of the Wizarding world for the first eleven years of her life was impressive, Draco knew this. For it to be a Sixth Year... That went above and beyond mere “impressive”. Even Severus admitted – albeit reluctantly – this.   
Part of Draco felt proud; after all she was his betrothed. Another part just seethed with anger. N.E.W.T.s, like Nott, had stolen Granger from him. If not for N.E.W.T.s she could – **would** – have been his by now. Would have been his long before Nott had entered the picture – and her bed.

Day 83 – **evening** of day 83 – and the wedding was over. Draco was still on edge for some reason, though not quite sure why. His wife had looked lovely, or so just about everyone had told him. Even his mother had given her approval – grudgingly given, yes, but it was still approval. The dress hadn’t been white, just as she’d promised, or one of those horrible cream-and-meringue piles he’d seen too many of, but instead a simple yet elegant robe in Gryffindork gold. Most had seen her choice of colour as a tribute to her former House. Draco, however, knew better; she’d bloody well made sure he would. Draco knew that had he been in his right mind he most likely would have agreed with the guests; she **did** look good – though he would of course never have admitted so out loud. Now, however, his patience had long since worn thin, along with most everything else. He was hanging on to sanity by the thinnest of threads, and all he could focus on was revenge. Payback. And, of course, getting his **wife** out of that damned dress.  
But in order to do so he’d first have to get her within touching distance. He stopped his pacing and glared at the door to the adjoining bathroom – still closed – and snarled. She’d been in there for close to half an hour now, and if she didn’t get back into the bedroom soon he’d break the door down. Propriety be damned! He’d waited long enough now. More than long enough.  
He was pulled out of his thoughts by a “pop”, followed by the appearance of a house elf.  
“Pardon, Master Draco. A letter for Master.” The creature bowed repeatedly, placed the scroll in its hand on Draco’s desk and “popped” out of the room.  
At first Draco was going to ignore it - it **was** , after all, his wedding night – but then thought better of it. A letter arriving on his wedding night? It could only be one of two things; something much too urgent to ignore or something so trivial he’d be able to burn it within seconds. Should it be the former waiting would be bad for him – possibly even disastrous or fatal.  
The writing inside was unfamiliar, and Draco almost threw the scroll into the fire at once. Still, something about it stopped him. The neat copperplate was feminine, yet rather businesslike, and he had an idea as to the writer’s identity. He checked at the end. There it was, confirmation in two words: “Hermione Granger”. A letter from his wife. Obviously she was conveniently forgetting that “wife” part and how she was now “Hermione **Malfoy** ”.  
Draco wondered what it was she felt required a letter – she **was** just on the other side of the door – and whether or not he should leave it until morning. Then he shrugged. It was probably another of her Muggle traditions, as the dress and her insistence that he not see her that day before the ceremony. Reading her letter would give him some time to calm down and maybe contemplate how to get her out of the bathroom – provided, of course, that she hadn’t come out on her own by then. Maybe she was just waiting for him to read this first?

“Malfoy;” _What, no “Draco”? No “Dear husband”. I'm hurt, really._ Draco sneered, then continued.  
“I’m sure you’re wondering about this. It is, after all, the night of our wedding; I **am** only a few feet away – why send you a letter instead of talking to you?  
Simple. I have things to say, and I know I would not be able to do so uninterrupted in any other way. There are more reasons, but we’ll get to those later.  
I told you the day of our Vow that I intended to find myself a lover. I know you think that is why Theodore Nott spent all the time at my dorm. (Yes, I know all about your spying. You didn’t **really** think you’d get away with it unnoticed, did you? Really, I thought you were smarter than that.) You could probably tell me exactly how often and for how long he visited; not to mention how many times he didn’t leave before curfew.  
Whatever you believe, you’re wrong.  
See, Theo and I were never lovers. We just studied together, just as we told everyone. Like me he wanted to try taking his N.E.W.T.s a year early, like me he did – and succeeded. Of course, unlike me, he had the option of returning to Hogwarts for Seventh Year - he simply didn’t want to. Why, I don’t know. He plans, I believe, to leave Wizarding England for good; I think not only because of the coming war.  
So. No passionate affair there. Not even ‘just’ sex. Just two people helping each other achieve their goals. Why, you may ask. I cannot speak for Theo, as I don’t know exactly why he agreed to help me torment you. He hates you, I know **that** much; I just don’t know why. I never asked; he never offered to tell. It doesn’t really matter though – all that mattered was **that** he helped.  
As for me, it’s very simple. I wanted to hurt you. I wanted you to feel at least a fraction of what I felt when your pathetic ‘Lord’ and his toadies killed my parents. If I managed that? Good. I know it could only have hurt your pride, your possessiveness, yet… You take what you can get, and you work with it.  
Also, it kept you at a distance, did it not? That was just as important to me.  
I’m guessing you’re furious now, and trying to figure out who, if not Theo. Don’t bother. There was no one. I may not have felt the need, or desire, to save myself for marriage anymore, but I had no intention of cheapening myself to the point where I slept with anyone willing. Sex, and my self-respect, meant a lot more to me than that.  
This still doesn’t mean you’ll get the ‘pleasure’ of raping a virgin tonight. Remember our little talk after the Vow, about logic and dreams? I told you I’d forgone logic enough to dream about love and romance. I would have been willing to settle for less, and **try**. The one thing I wasn’t willing to compromise, however, was respect. That’s what took you out of the picture.  
I don't believe you or your family killed my parents – had I done so, no force on this Earth could have made me accept even being in the same classroom as you. Still, you had no problem using their deaths, did you? And, I have every reason to believe that your 'precious Lord' is behind their deaths as well as our current predicament.  
At first I gave some serious thought to whether or not we could have a real marriage. The big question was, naturally, if you were under duress. Had that been the case protection could have been arranged, for you and your mother, and there would have been a chance for us. But I soon came to realise it was not so. You were actively helping Voldemort. Yes, I spotted your Mark. So.  
While I admit you are intelligent, you do not **use** your intelligence. You’re a racist, a bigot and a hypocrite. You go on about ‘blood superiority’ – yet you follow a half-blood. No logic in that. You see me as inferior because of the blood that runs through my veins, because of who and what my parents were, and refuse to see who and what **I** am, and what I’m capable of. These things and others make it impossible for me to respect you, just as it’s impossible for me to believe **you** would ever respect me.  
And so it is also impossible for me to actually be your wife.  
I had to marry you, I know. The Vow we took together gave me no choice; just as the ones we took today makes me unable to do anything about it now. It’s for life.  
Luckily there are ways around **everything**. The Unbreakable Vow may have forced me to come here today and marry you, but it was still the lesser of two evils. That Vow in fact gave me the time and freedom to do what I had to.  
Your side **will** lose this war, and I will be one of those who made that possible. I only wish I could be there to witness it all. But I won’t.  
Yes, the contract and our Vow made it impossible for me to run. Our Wedding Vows do the same, and they also keep me from taking my life. None of this stopped me from the path I chose, though; nor can it stop what I’ve long since put in motion.  
You probably want to break down that door now. No need – it will open. All wards on it will have dissipated as I died. Yes. Died. I do not expect to be alive when you read this, but know this: even should I be wrong and still be breathing when you see me next it will not be so for long. The poison inside my body cannot be stopped.  
I will be free.  
I will be me.  
I will never be yours.

Hermione Granger”

Draco stared at the parchment, uncomprehendingly. Then he dropped it, as if it burned, hissed and stormed towards the bathroom door.  
He ripped it open, unhindered, and was met by the sight of Granger – his wife – sitting in a chair. She was still in her golden dress, still looked lovely. Still. She wasn’t breathing. She’d been right: she was already dead.  
He threw his head back and howled in anger.

As he lay alone in bed hours later Draco could barely get his mind around this new reality. This had been his wedding day. He was supposed to spend the night ravishing his new bride. Instead he was alone, while his wife rested in an examination room at St Mungo’s. She had actually chosen to kill herself – preferring death to being married to him.  
Severus had confirmed what she’d written, had even identified the – apparently very rare – poison. It was slow working, needing 24 hours to work its way through the body, and not completely reliable as it could be stopped very easily during that time. Once time was up, however, nothing could be done. There were no outward signs, making it impossible to detect the poison unless you found the drink it had been administered in, and practically no symptoms experienced by the person who’d ingested the poison.  
 _“Miss Granger, my pardon, **your wife** ,”_ Severus had explained, _“most likely brewed it herself, and drank it sometime yesterday. As there were no indications of foul play during or after the ceremony her 24 hours must have been up before you took your vows. After that it was only a matter of time. She would have felt a bit dizzy, as if she’d had a glass of wine too many, but otherwise she would have felt perfectly fine. In reality, she was already dead.”_  
Knowing what had happened didn’t help. Instead his thoughts travelled back to when all this had started; the last day of Christmas break… He and his mother had been allowed to go to Diagon Alley unsupervised. There they had been approached by a Death Eater who’d given them a Portkey, transporting the two of them immediately to the Dark Lord’s side. Draco had been nervous, as he’d not been able to do as ordered and kill Dumbledore. To his surprise he’d been told to leave that for the time being and do something completely different: marry Hermione Granger.  
Narcissa had been furious, but the Dark Lord had been kind enough to explain instead of punishing her. Draco had seen the possibilities at once. He’d told his master that even though it pained him on a personal level no sacrifice was too great for his Lord. He’d lied. Marrying Granger had not been a painful thought.  
He blamed his libido. During the summer between Third and Fourth Year he’d had an affair with a stunning Ravenclaw three years his senior. She’d been just as taken with his name, his money and the presents he gave her as he’d been with her body. Unfortunately he’d soon found out that her mind was far more attractive than even her knockers. He’d never been able to get turned on by a stupid girl again, even if his first requirement was still looks. Of course this had led to disaster.  
He’d been blown away completely during the Yule Ball later that year, seeing Granger all dolled up on Krum’s arm. She’d been beautiful, and since that night he’d never been able to look at her the same way again. Her intelligence had not been a secret, quite the opposite, but he’d never really thought about it before. As a Mudblood she was supposed to be a lesser being, on a par with a house elf, and thus less competent. Afterwards, however, he’d never been able to **not** think about it. Normally there would have been an easy way to get her out of his lustful thoughts: seducing her. With the object of his fantasies being part of the Golden Trio though… Simply not possible. Two years of secretly lusting after Granger had left Draco more than willing to marry her, thinking he’d be able to finally get over her – pun intended.  
Now, he’d never have her, making his frustration even worse. The fact that her death was more than likely to infuriate the Dark Lord had barely registered yet. He had been too busy fuming about what it meant to him personally. Still, in the back of his mind Draco knew what would happen next: he would soon be back trying to kill Hogwarts’ headmaster.

That summer Draco Malfoy led a small army of Death Eaters into Hogwarts and killed the one person that still believed he had some good in his soul, still believed that Draco Malfoy could be saved. Years later, rotting in Azkaban and stripped of his magic, Draco admitted to himself that perhaps the old man had not been such a fool after all. There **had** been a chance for Draco to redeem himself, to not become a murderer like his father, like the Death Eaters. Like Voldemort. That chance had been Hermione Granger. She’d killed not only herself but his only chance of redemption. It was fitting. After all, it had also been she who had found out how to kill Voldemort once and for all. Harry Potter may have held the wand that did the deed, but Hermione Granger had once more been the brains behind the act. Even from her grave she still stood beside her friend. Draco wondered what it was like, having someone care about you like that.  
He died without an answer.

~ The End ~

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by the amazing slashbutterfly of Perfect Imagination. Grammar double-checked by Glynna_vyre of Perfect Imagination.


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